


no take backs

by Spikedluv



Series: Dec 2017 Gift Fic [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cameo: Jasper Sitwell, Cameo: Maria Hill, Cameo: Nick Fury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Clint had taken a stint in the serving line and was now helping to clear tables.  He rolled his cart of dirty dishes into the kitchen and did a double-take when he saw Phil at one of the sinks.  His sleeves were pushed up leaving his forearms bare and his hands were deep in a tub of soapy water.  Seeing Phil in casual clothes was a rare treat, but the heat coiling in Clint’s belly at the sight of the other man was like a familiar friend.





	no take backs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lil_1337](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/gifts).



> This story is one of my December Gift Fic and was written for Lil_1337 using the prompt: MCU, Clint/Coulson, doing dishes.
> 
> Posted: December 1, 2017

This is the fifth year Clint has volunteered to help serve Thanksgiving Day dinner at The Bowery Mission located in the Bowery neighborhood of Manhattan. Phil volunteered whenever he wasn’t away on a mission and one year he invited Clint along. He’d been doing it ever since when their work schedules allowed. They usually helped pack and deliver dinners, but this year they’d been assigned to help serve dinners in the chapel.

Clint had taken a stint in the serving line and was now helping to clear tables. He rolled his cart of dirty dishes into the kitchen and did a double-take when he saw Phil at one of the sinks. His sleeves were pushed up leaving his forearms bare and his hands were deep in a tub of soapy water. Seeing Phil in casual clothes was a rare treat, but the heat coiling in Clint’s belly at the sight of the other man was like a familiar friend.

“Hey, Sir,” Clint said, ignoring the curl of desire. “I brought you more dishes.”

“Appreciate it, Barton,” Phil said dryly.

“Just doing my part, Sir.”

Clint unloaded the dishes onto the counter and was handed a dishtowel. He sputtered when someone else wheeled his cart away. Phil was paying great attention to the dish he was washing when Clint turned, but there appeared to be a small smile on his face.

“Did you arrange that?” Clint said.

“I don’t have that amount of pull here,” Phil said.

“I don’t believe it, Sir.”

“We’re not on duty, Clint,” Phil reminded him.

It was a round-about way of telling Clint he could call him Phil, but Clint was already having trouble dealing with the worn in jeans and faded blue Henley that fit snug enough across Phil’s chest Clint could see the outline of his nipples if he looked. Which he did not, because that way lie madness.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Clint said, adding a drawled, “Sir.”

The tip of Phil’s ear went pink at the tease. Clint realized his mistake when his breath caught at the sight. They washed and dried dishes in a silence that went from fraught with the tension that had always seemed to exist between them to companionable.

When their shift was over and they were replaced at the sink by a new set of volunteers, Clint and Phil changed out of shirts that had gotten spattered with potato and gravy (and in Phil’s case, water soaked), despite the aprons they wore. Clint pulled on a multi-colored striped flannel shirt that the Eddie Bauer tag claimed was ‘Peacock’.

Clint was still trying to figure out if Sitwell (Clint’s Secret Santa last year) had gotten it because the color brought out the greens in his eyes (which he had on good authority that it did) or because of the tenuous bird connection. Phil pulled on a light sweater in deep turquoise that looked so soft Clint had to clench his fingers around the wadded-up t-shirt in his hand to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Phil grabbed his brown leather jacket, Clint his navy peacoat, and they headed out to Lola. They were no sooner seated in the car than Clint’s phone rang. It was Natasha and he answered the call immediately. Since joining the team Nat usually joined them at The Bowery, but she’d been sent on a super secret mission this year that Clint wasn’t allowed to know about, which made him especially antsy.

Clint put the call on speaker so they could both hear her. After Phil greeted Nat and wished her a happy Thanksgiving (which he did every year, despite the fact that Nat was Russian), Phil listened to Clint’s and Nat’s conversation while he maneuvered Lola through traffic, occasionally interjecting a comment or responding to something Nat said.

Clint kept Nat on the phone until they entered Sitwell’s apartment, where he and Maria (under Fury’s supervision) had been putting together a feast, if past years were anything to go by. Hugs (and manly handshakes in Fury’s case) were exchanged and everyone wished Nat a happy Thanksgiving. Clint disconnected the call after taking it off speaker and telling her to stay safe.

Hors d'oeuvres had been set out, so Clint filled a small plate with crackers, cheese and grapes, and veggies and dip. He and Phil were pointed to the two open spots on the couch beside Maria and they settled in to watch football until the turkey was ready.

Phil gently woke Clint when Sitwell and Maria had the food on the table. Clint lifted his head and realized he’d tilted to the side and fallen asleep with his head on Phil’s shoulder. “Sorry, Sir,” Clint mumbled. He raised his hands to scrub the sleep out of his face when all he wanted to do was curl deeper into Phil’s side.

They extracted themselves from the couch, which Sitwell and Fury stayed away from because it sucked you in like quicksand, and moved over to the small table in what qualified as a dining area in New York City apartments. The food was set out on the counter buffet style to allow more room on the table, and Clint and Phil joined the end of the line.

Soon they were all seated around the table sharing good food and even better company. They all pitched in for clean-up – the food was quickly divided into plastic containers for each of them to take and the dishes washed. Sitwell put on a pot of coffee while Maria set out desserts, plates, and flatware.

Clint groaned when he looked over the pies (the traditional pumpkin and apple, as well as lemon meringue), and an angel berry trifle that looked amazing. He was full from having over-indulged in turkey, stuffing, and Fury’s homemade cranberry sauce, but there was no way he was passing up dessert.

They took their plates and cups of coffee into the living room and pretended to watch whatever teams were playing the second game. Turned out Sitwell and Maria had placed a ‘friendly’ wager on the outcome so there was a lot of trash talk between the two. Clint enjoyed a piece of the lemon meringue and a large scoop of the trifle, which tasted as delicious as it looked. Phil went the traditional route with a slice of pumpkin topped with homemade whipped cream and a slice of apple with slices of cheese on the side.

Clint fell asleep again. By the pictures Sitwell took, he wasn’t the only one. Maria cheering her win at the end of the game woke Clint. Apparently Phil had woken mere moments before, but he was better at coming fully awake than Clint was.

They said their goodbyes and took their bags of leftovers out to Lola for the drive home. The brisk night air, or being alone in the car with Phil, wiped away the last vestiges of fatigue. Clint imagined setting his hand on Phil’s leg and sliding it upwards. He had to spread his own legs to give his swelling cock more room. Phil glanced over at the movement, but didn’t say anything.

Phil parked Lola in his reserved spot and waited while Clint got out with the leftovers. Phil activated the force field that kept anyone from touching Lola and followed Clint to the elevator. They were silent during the ride and Clint could feel the tension from earlier return, rising to fill the space between them.

They walked to Phil’s corner apartment at the end of the hall and Phil let them in. The tension ratcheted up to nearly unbearable levels as Clint passed near enough to touch Phil when he stepped into the apartment. He stopped and waited for Phil to close the door behind him and engage the locks. Clint turned just as Phil reached for him.

Phil’s hands went to Clint’s sides beneath his peacoat. Instead of calming the tumult inside him, the touch of their lips only made Clint want more. Clint brought one hand up and slipped it beneath the back of Phil’s jacket so he could finally rub his palm over the soft material of the sweater he’d gotten Phil for his birthday two years ago.

Clint groaned when Phil broke the kiss before they got too carried away by the front door.

“You know what I’m thankful for?” Phil said.

“That I’ve still got the stamina of a sixteen-year old?” Clint said.

Phil paused and considered. “Well, yes, definitely that. But what _else_ I’m thankful for?”

“Is it the same thing I’m thankful for?” Clint said.

“Very probably,” Phil said with a soft smile. He gave Clint another kiss before pulling back and taking Clint’s hand. “Why don’t we put away the leftovers so I can show you how thankful I am.”

When the leftovers were stowed in the refrigerator and their coats hung side-by-side on the hooks beside the door they came back together. Clint ran his palms over Phil’s back as Phil’s tongue teased Clint’s lips apart.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” Clint said.

“Ditto.”

Clint laughed against Phil’s lips and didn’t protest when Phil steered him towards the couch, where he presented Clint with a wrapped package. Clint raised his eyebrow, but opened it to reveal the entire first season of Dog Cops.

“Nice,” Clint said. He knew what they were doing that weekend. “Not what I was expecting, but thank you.” He dropped the DVDs onto the couch cushion and kissed Phil.

“There’s more,” Phil said.

“God, I hope so.”

Phil grinned into the kiss. “If I’d known you were this easy . . .”

“You’d have still taken forever to ask me out,” Clint said.

Phil shrugged. “Probably. I like to be sure.”

“And are you?” Clint said. “Sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

“Awesome! Let’s go test out my stamina.” Clint bent down and put his shoulder in Phil’s stomach.

“Don’t even think about it,” Phil said, but it was too late.

Clint stood with Phil hanging over his shoulder.

“Put me down, Barton!” Phil demanded.

Clint ignored him and headed for the bedroom.

“I’m rethinking this whole thing,” Phil said, wise enough to not struggle so he didn’t end up on his head.

“Uh uh, Sir, no take backs!” Clint said.

The End


End file.
